celebrating the good things in life and the imperfect ones made great by God's grace

Random

02/20/2015

At the time I was trying to deal with a heartbreak by focusing on the positives in life. I wanted to remind myself there were still reasons to hope.

I wanted an outlet.

I needed a voice.

So I wrote, as I healed. As a way of making sense of it all.

Last year I lost sight of that, in big and small ways.

And I struggled to know how to come back from a place of not feeling much hope at all.

I didn’t feel like there was much worth writing about.

I didn’t feel like I had anything to say.

And I continue to struggle, daily really, with the meaning of life. The purpose behind it all.

I suppose I’ve embarked on what will be a lifelong journey of grasping. Searching. Reaching. Praying. Asking. Digging. Clawing.

For light. For air.

For hope.

Some days are better than others. Some easier. Some lighter.

But I’m trying, once again, to trust that even on the hardest days, there’s reason to hope.

And thankfully, when I remember to look, I can almost always spot some glimmer of truth.

And I so appreciate you letting me share those with you.

*This post was drafted on Feb. 18, 2014. Funny how a year later every single word still rings true to me, which is precisely why I thought I'd finally share.*

Last Saturday was one of those mornings that started on the wrong foot. From the second I opened my eyes I knew it would be a doozy.

I knew there would be unseen battles to be fought.

I knew hope would be hard to find.

And the first challenge hit halfway into making breakfast, when I realized we had no tortillas for the breakfast tacos Mikael was already preparing.

Deconstructed tacos, with just chorizo and tortilla chips might fly on Chopped, but I wasn’t about to have it.

So, very reluctantly, with messy hair and holey pajama pants, I got into our out-of-inspection vehicle and headed up the street to the ever-crowded dollar store.

Did I mention I’m not a morning person, and that this was pre-coffee?

Well it was, and I felt kinda like a monster, shamefully heading inside, looking the kind of hot mess I swore I’d never be (in public, unless there was a fire necessitating my swift home departure).

With cheap tortillas in one hand, and a pint of milk in the other, I barreled towards the checkout line, hoping to avoid any and all eye contact.

But when I rounded the Coke case, I was cut off by a little girl. One with blonde curls and pink cowboy boots.

She couldn’t have been more than three or four.

“Bubbles. Bubbles,” she said to her grandfather.

“When we get outside can I blow bubbles?”

“Can you take this so I can hold my bubbles?”

“Can I blow my bubbles now?”

It wasn’t the sort of tantrum begging I’ve come to expect so close to a rack of candy.

Instead it was a sort of dignified, earnest pleading, more like what you’d see in a courtroom than a playground.

She was blocking several customers’ way, including my own, but you have to be a total Grinch to hold a grudge against a cheerful toddler.

So I quickly gave up my grimace, and took my place behind her in line, as she pleaded her case to her very patient grandpa.

I don’t know if he granted her permission or not, but it didn’t matter. By the time he had started the checkout process, her excitement was simply too much to contain.

So there she was, all smiles. A precious little girl, blowing bubbles, in the crowded checkout line at the dollar store on a Saturday morning.

Completely undeterred by all the grumpy adults around her.

As happy as I’ve seen any human in my life.

And watching her, just blowing and popping her bubbles, as if all was right in the world, even I couldn’t help but smile.

“I got that one,” she said, this time looking up at me.

She had to make sure I saw how great she was at popping bubbles, which I did.

“You got it,” I said, smiling bigger now.

And then, the little cowgirl asked a simple question that changed the course of my day.

“Do you wanna try?”

She gestured to her tiny bubble wand.

For a second I worried about knocking the poor girl over with my awful morning breath, or what her grandpa would think about a stranger hijacking his granddaughter’s bubbles.

But the doubts dissipated quickly, when I realized what a heinous thing it would be to turn down such an innocent, selfless offer.

I did what any decent human being would.

I blew a bubble, or attempted it anyways.

“Oops; I’m not very good at this,” I said, when my lame attempt didn’t produce a single bubble.

But without missing a beat, she so graciously responded.

“That’s okay. I’ll show you how.”

And then she did.

At this point her grandfather had finished checking out, and was telling her it was time to go.

“That’s really good,” I said to her, as they headed out.

And yes. I’m a sap. I can be wildly emotional at times.

It was a bad morning. I was tired. And yadda yadda yadda.

But I swear to you, I teared up just a little as I placed my tortillas on the conveyor belt.

‘Cause for a brief moment I forgot about the cynical adult I’ve become.

I forgot about my bedhead, and bad breath, and the myriad of reasons I didn’t want to be around anyone – much less strangers – on that frigid weekend morning.

I forgot about our slow-leaking tire. And how much I hate that perpetually crowded dollar store.

For a tiny glimmering second I let myself be ushered into a magical moment.

For a second I caught a glimpse at what life would be like if I believed, like a child, that life is fundamentally good, instead of some cosmic game of Mouse Trap, set to capture me while I run this rat race we think is life.

Years ago I remember seeing a movie, in which a father exclaims he would give anything to feel as excited as his kids get about bubbles.

I laughed at the sentiment, but I didn’t really get it.

Until last Saturday.

When every bit of my soul-crushing adult cynicism, was confronted with the pure amazement of a child.

Seeing the delight on that little girl’s face, I finally understood what he meant.

Kids get it.

Even Jesus said that.

It’s adults with the problems. The inability to truly see.

Honestly, I’ve spent a lot of time lately dwelling on how awful and hard and unjust life is.

I’ve expelled so much energy worrying about flat tires, 5-year-plans, and what to have for dinner, that there’s never much energy left to enjoy the little things that used to excite me.

It’s no wonder I fail to see all the beauty that exists, when I’m so caught up in focusing on all that’s wrong with the world instead.

Yes, grocery store runs come at the least opportune times.

Yes, cars need fixing. And bills need paying.

Yes; deadlines need meeting.

And stress. Stress. Ick. Adulthood = stress.

I get it. I get how hard it can be to simply show up each day.

To face the challenges that await, without cowering, or crawling back in bed.

Forget forcing a smile on your face.

Some days it’s hard enough to just remember to breathe.

Sometimes life seems utterly, hopelessly, impossible.

But the little girl with her bubbles reminded me of something, that I'd like to remind myself (and you) of now.

In her simplicity, and her tiny cowgirl boots, she knew a secret I’d long forgotten.

04/02/2014

1.) The Princess Bride doesn’t have a weird plot twist I didn’t remember, involving a romance between Danny Devito and Holly Hunter. I accidentally changed the channel, and then spent 20 minutes of my life – time I WON’T get back - watching a horrible movie and rethinking my whole childhood.

2.) It is difficult, but possible to disagree with someone respectfully. Conflict is inevitable in life. You can’t hide from it forever. (Especially if you insist on keeping your Facebook. Ugh, Facebook, officially the worst thing I just can’t seem to get rid of.)

But I’m really excited to be discovering that I have friendships that can handle tough conversations, and people in my life that will support me in spite of opposing views. It’s good to know civility still exists, even if the internet’s doing its best to kill it.

3.) Roasting a whole chicken isn’t nearly as hard as you think. Thank you Crockpot and Pinterest. We have delicious meals for a week with minimal prep.

4.) Samuel L. Jackson, tough as he seems, has been married for-ever (nearly 40 years) and has one daughter. The things you learn when you fall down the internet rabbit hole.

5.) I was crazy stoked to discover that Tom’s is now selling coffee. But when it arrived – yay! – my excitement was short lived. We still don’t have a coffee grinder, which means those bags are just sitting sadly in our cupboard.

6.) Flowers and candles go a long way in making a house feel like a home. My simplest goal for spring is to have something green, and something prettily scented, in every single room.

7.) When people say it feels better to give than to receive, they mean it’s a HUGE relief when the box of late Christmas, birthday, and Valentine’s Day gifts finally makes it out the door. And even better when that box makes it out of the car, and to an actual post office.

Also good is when you clean out your closet, and have a collection of (lovely, but ill-fitting) things to send to good friends instead of Goodwill. Long live giving. And may this spring-cleaning spurt last longer than cookies in our house.

8.) Balloons just make me happy. Whether it’s the pale pink balloon, all alone, randomly floating along the curb of our street, or the slightly deflated ones lined up outside of McDonald’s. They try, balloons.

Even when they start to go flat. They keep bobbing up to the sky, doing their best.

And you gotta love ‘em for that. I really do love them for that.

Even if I never, ever, can spell them right.

9.) Like balloons, bubbles are one of those things even cynical adults don’t outgrow.

You just can’t go wrong with bubbles. I wrote a whole post about the magic of bubbles a while back. (I should post that!) Also, there are really cool bubbles out now with all the Easter goodies at Walgreens. I may just have to invest.

10.) If you call it a cactus people will think of prickly mean things that hurt poor geckos in the dessert.

But if you call it a succulent hipsters (myself included) will shell out money for the world's most easy to care for flowers.

- Bonus Lessons -

If Monsters U is on I will watch it.

Parks & Rec is the greatest show ever!

It's always a good idea to start a blog with your friend(especially if that friend is awesome and driven and an amazing cook).

03/03/2014

And last night I went to sleep under four blankets and still woke up shivering.

Gotta love Texas weather. In like a lion, or a snow leopard, or something like that.

But the crazy nature of Texas weather is hardly newsworthy.

What is newsworthy? How ‘bout some super random stuff I learned in February?!

Yay!

1.) I really do love to read. I learned that last year when a friend inspired me to aim for 52 books in the year. I failed miserably at the challenge, but it rekindled a forgotten romance with the written word all the same.

And this year, I feel like I’m finally hitting a bit of a stride.

Instead of playing it safe with my book selections I’m stepping outside of my comfort zone. In February I read the super short, super crass, but still moving play August: Osage County, another classic by Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men, and a modern beast of a novel, Corrections by Jonathan Franzen. It was super long and emotionally intense, but a great foray out of my literary comfort zone and a very interesting read. More on those books later, I hope.

2.) On a lighter note (pun intended) I will never outgrow my love for teal. But, I’m obsessed with mint this season. It’s like teal’s younger, preppier baby sister, and I love it. Clearly.

3.) I absolutely hate to admit this, but making our bed each morning has made a huge difference in my mood and productivity throughout the day. I’m going on week two, now, of forcing myself to develop this habit. I hope I’ll keep it up. It really has been a positive change.

4.) I could not have meme’d this any better myself. This is completely my personal, beautiful, and wholly unsubstantiated view of heaven.

5.) If you’re gonna bother to invest in new tennis shoes (for the first time in six years!) you might want to invest in some good socks too. I killed both my ankles at the start of this month thanks to the “cool looking” ankle socks I just had to have. Blister Bandaids were a God-send, that helped them heal fairly quickly. Still, it’d have been better to save the trouble, and just buy some sensible socks to start with.

6.) Parks and Rec is, literally, the greatest show ever. At least, I love it, and I like it. And thankfully the husband does too.

We’ve been binging on it most nights, thanks to Netflix. Between Ron Swanson’s bacon-inspired prose and Leslie Knope’s unbreakable patriotism, not to mention her love of waffles, there’s a little bit of something for everybody. Mostly, I guess, we just like food humor.

7.) A good friend will meet you downtown for lunch. A great friend will drive halfway across the state (or an hour at least), to catch up over sandwiches and not pass an ounce of judgement while you eat your weight in bread pudding.

8.) It turns out the girl that never knows where she wants to eat, or what to wear, and finishes half her sentences with question marks can totally take a stance!

That girl is me, by the way, and I discovered in February that I can be super bossy if need be.

I had the honor of shooting my sis-in-law’s engagement photos on Valentine’s Day, and thanks to advice from Mikael, I took charge of the shoot. We ended up getting some great shots. And even more importantly I learned there’s a time and place to speak up, like when you’re losing light fast and want to capture some sun flares.

9.) While we’re revisiting V-Day, I learned this year that a laughter-filled lunch at Cheddar’s trumps a stuffy, fancy Valentine’s dinner every time. Who needs escargot or expensive wine when you can have spinach artichoke dip and sweet tea?

10.) EOS not only makes great, egg-shaped chapstick, which is wonderful ‘cause it’s quirky shape makes it harder to lose, it also makes great hand lotion in equally adorable (odd) packaging. The scent is pretty, not overwhelming, and it really does moisturize well.

So there ya have it. A bunch of stuff you didn't need to know.

Hope you've enjoyed your ice day, local friends, and that your year's off to a great start.

02/12/2014

Alright fellas, this is finally a post for you. More particularly, this is for those of you fighting a full-blown freak out about the particular February date that’s looming ominously in the very near future.

I know V-day is mere hours away now.

I know you have no idea what to get your significant other.

And I know you’re scared.

Stores are overwhelmingly stuffed with candies and floral arrangements that cost an, a leg and a hefty car payment.

But that doesn't mean you have to empty your bank account to buy your sweetheart something that'll show your love.

Yes. A lot of pressure comes with major holidays.

You have every right to be flustered (or a more manly version of flustered).

Think outside the velvet-lined box. Contrary to popular belief every kiss does not begin at Kay’s.

Instead of spending hundreds of dollars on those name-brand Pandora bracelets create a one-of-a-kind (and far more affordable) gift your girl will still treasure.

Head to a mall kiosk (yes, a kiosk!), or even a local craft store, and pick out sterling silver charms meaningful to you and your lady. Creating a bracelet from scratch is not only more thoughtful and special than picking something from a catalogue. It will also leave plenty of dollars in the bank for a nice night out on the town.

If a silver charm bracelet isn’t really her style, consider a statement necklace instead. Yes, every department store is going to be peddling diamond-studded heart necklaces this time of year. But this is a chance to show your girl you get her.

Instead of going with the standard Valentine’s fair, pick a bold, beaded necklace in her favorite color. Or interlocking circles, representing your life joined together.

What woman doesn't have a sweet tooth? And most everyone loves a good chocolate now and then.

But, there’s no need to spend a bunch of money on gourmet chocolates. ($50, for 15 pieces? Seriously Godiva?)

How ‘bout picking up a slice of her favorite chocolate cake instead?

Maybe deliver a mocha latte this Friday to help her beat those 3 o’clock blues.

If Haagen Daaz is more her style, take her out for a celebratory Valentine’s Day scoop.

Or hit her even closer to home and get the kiddos involved.

Oreo balls and almond bark are two super simple dessert options, even the novice can make. They require few ingredients, no baking, and can be customized to fit your tastes. Perfect for an afternoon project.

But nothing says Valentine’s treats have to be chocolate, or sweet.

If your lady’s trying to eat healthier the last thing she needs is a box full of temptation taunting her from her desktop.

Consider emptying a chocolate heart box (I’m sure you can find a way!) and then filling it with a spa certificate instead, or some nail polish in her favorite shades.

*Just remember, the golden rule of gift giving is to choose something the recipient will love.

As the recent flower commercial puts it, "If it's not her idea, it's a bad idea." Keep this in mind if you're considering any household appliance, or something with the word "Diet" or "Exercise" in it.

Above: you don't have to be a poet to let her know that you love her. If a very simple bear can express his emotions, so can you!

4.) Cards!

Anyone can pick out a lovely Hallmark card. And that’s one great way to go.

They do know their sappy stuff.

But what girls are really looking for isn’t a gold crown emblem on the back of an envelope.

It’s the thought behind the envelope. It’s the sentiment scribbled inside the card.

That doesn’t mean you have to be uncharacteristically sappy, or write some romantic mush.

Be yourself. That's who your Significant Other fell in love with, after all.

If you won your sweet’s heart with witty rhetoric, write something silly that will make her laugh.

If you do have a mostly-secret softer side, now’s the time to show it.

B-T-Dubs, even if your kiddos have beaten you to the craft supplies, that doesn’t mean a homemade card is out of the question.

Yes, glitter glue can be quite intimidating. But a homemade card doesn’t have to be perfect (or even that pretty) to mean a lot.

The sentimental value of something handmade is priceless, whether it comes from the tiny shaky hands of a toddler, or those of a grown man willing to forgo his machismo to make something his gal will cherish.

I really truly hope this guide will help you come up with a perfect gift for your girl this Valentine’s, and that these tips will save you some hard-earned money in the process.

Girls just wanna know you get them, regardless of what you’re giving them.

C.) And if, try as you might, you still really don’t get her – at all – then go to those who do.

Ask her friends for advice what she might want, or peek a glimpse at those Pinterest boards she’s always yakking about (hello endless inspiration).

The days of circling gifts in catalogues are gone. And we get it. You're not all great at picking up our super subtle (often ridiculous) hints.

You're not cheating the system - or invading our privacy - if it's a publicly posted Pin board. :)

Just something to keep in mind, for V-Day and beyond.

Happy hunting fellas!

*Order in her favorite meal *Light a candle to make it romantic *Buy a DVD of the best movie you saw together last year * Buy or download the new book she keeps talking about wanting to read *Give her an afternoon off to actually read it *Frame a photo of the two of you, or a concert ticket from a great date… *Coupons for a day off from her most-dreaded chores (dishes!!!) *Create art using her favorite lyrics, or a movie quote *Get the recipe for her grandma’s cake, or her mom’s roast, and make it for her *Lay out her favorite dress with a ticket for a night-out-on-the-town, or a very fancy Netflix date *Create a mix CD, those never go out of style *Better yet, play her that City and Colour song you both really love *Or Wonder Wall, just ‘cause

11/14/2013

Know that thing going around Facebook where people share random facts other people might not know about them? Well this is like that, only less coherent. And with pictures.

Sleeping is just sooo overrated you see. So instead I stay up catching up on all my favorite blogs, and window (Christmas) shopping, and thinking random thoughts that simply must be shared, right?

Now if that glowing endorsement didn't scare you off here are those random thoughts I've been telling you about, all eight of them, 'cause why not?

1. I'm kinda in love with the above picture of Michael Caine (which has been floating around Pinterest, obviously), but really I've been crushing on him since Batman (the first one).

Don't worry; this isn't news to Mikael. He knows I've got a thing for older men (think the cartoon guy in UP! who I think we can all agree is just too adorable. Although Mikael, you should be warned, this just in, he does exist!).

2. The other day at the grocery store there was a girl sitting in her car, using someone else's bare foot as a microphone. I assume it was a kid, but it was someone in the backseat, so I couldn't see.

The girl was really belting something when I pulled into the parking space in front of hers. This was odd enough, but you know how usually when you stare at someone for more than a second they notice, and stop doing whatever caused you to stare?

Well I stared a lot longer than usual and she didn't stop. That makes me creepy, I know. But it also makes her really cool. Right? Who does that? Cool people I think.

I mean, a hairbrush mic has been done. But a bare foot? You go girl! I can only hope this starts a trend (can you imagine how that'd spice things up on shows like The Voice?).

3. A lot of my stories revolve around the grocery store, 'cause I work from home, and it's the easiest excuse to leave the house. But another good excuse is... the pharmacy. 'Cause where else can you find super deals without having to trek across town to get to Target?!

My occasional couponing reached new highs (or lows) this week though, when I bought 3 large packages of toilet paper, just so I could earn the $5 in extra CVS bucks.

And when I say large, I mean really large. I couldn't see over the TP on my way to the car, or look my husband in the eyes when I walked in with them, but:

a.) I don't have to go through what I consider the embarrassing act of buying toilet paper for like week(s) now.

b.) That $5 is gonna come in pretty handy when I need a new nail polish, or 2 for $5 potato chips, or... CVS brand paper towels!

4. This might sound crazy to those of you who've known me a long time, but sometimes, just sometimes, I really wish I was Catholic. Like my Grandma. And the Pope. And, oh, some millions (maybe billions) of other people.

5. If you like coffee, and your dream weekend consists of three things:

a.) Spending one night at home alone with craft supplies.

b.) One night cuddled under a blanket with a loved one, pizza, and a stack of movies.

c.) And one with a handful (at most!) of friends who like to play board games, and drink caffeine.

Then I will like you. That's just a fact. (It may be sad, but it's still a fact.)

6. I really suck at being a grown up a lot of the times. Doing things like remembering to put oil in the car, or figuring out how to get burnt goopy stuff out of the oven... driving in traffic, choosing to vacuum after spending eight hours rearranging picture frames and poofing decorative pillows... those things don't come naturally to me.

Anyone else struggle with this, life after training wheels I mean? Or is that just me?

7. I used to love summer, but now that I don't get three months off with dad paying for my gas and movie tickets, I love it a lot less. Also, sweaters. So cozy. And lattes. So good.

And the romantic way the leaves change colors, making every walk around the park a unique and breathtaking experience... autumn is growing on me big time. And I'm so happy about that.

8. I cannot explain how much I love it, on the rare occassion, when I fall in love with a song - and listen to it on repeat thanks to YouTube - only to discover it's the internet rarity without a single "Thumbs Down" on it.

It makes me feel like I have good taste, but also that there's hope for the world. Not because my taste is that good, but because there are some things that transcend hate.

That makes me real happy.

So that's a bunch of stuff you probably didn't need to know. But thanks for letting me share, and for giving me an excuse to stroll memory lane looking for "stock art."

I really am so grateful for those of you who choose to read this little thing. It's a great gift you give me.

Now it's your turn. What makes you very very happy?

I hope Thursday makes the list, 'cause that's today, and today's always a good day to be happy.

11/12/2013

We’ll make it into nothing, by trying to say it could be something other than what we’ve been taught, what we’ve held so dear.

We cling tighter and tighter with each passing year, each war, each mindless shooting, each orphaned child…

Nothing else makes sense, so we hold tighter to what we do know.

Now we can’t remember if it was truth keeping us safe, or if we were charged with saving it.

We set out to protect it, at all costs. Just to be safe.

If we open our fists to look at it, much less share it, we might lose it altogether.

So we tighten our grasp, cracking whatever mutated form remains in our grip.

Better a small, broken truth, than no truth at all.

And that’s what we tell ourselves, and assure those in our closed circle, each with hands cupping his own invisible commodity.

We are indivisible. We are one.

Set apart from those outside, those missing the truth that saved us.

This is what I see.

And this is what I’ve known.

Certainty. Confidence.

At a cost.

Surely Truth was never meant to be held like this; like a vice. Like a right.

Like something to lord over others.

Something to beat them down with, and keep them in line with.

Nevermind that we claim to be the only ones who can see, or set, those floating lines.

Truth, to me, always sounded like Light.

Light like Love.

And Love like Freedom.

And Freedom like Grace.

Grace that can’t be clenched. Or controlled.

Earned. Or saved.

Grace that abounds in being spent up, given out, passed along, loosely held.

Grace that cannot be quantified, or calculated.

Grace that just is, with or without us.

Grace that doesn’t belong to any one person, or people group, or country, or religious sect.

Grace that is transformative, and transcendent.

Grace that covers the whole earth.

Grace best exhibited not by tight-knit circles, but by open hands.

The older I get, the more hurt I see.

Hurt too often inflicted by those fighting in the name of truth.

And I’ve felt like a traitor, for questioning what it is I’m doing here.

Straining under the pressure of trying to cling to something that slipped out of my hands long ago.

I worried what would happen if I admitted I’d lost it.

The certainty. The confidence. My shiny security.

Would I be accused of trying to outrun or outwit the truth?

An enemy of all I once loved?

Or, in accepting that my hands are empty, and giving up the fight, might I experience a Freedom I hadn't known before?

Might I find that Truth isn't made for keeping, but about being set free?

* I took a prolonged "vacation" from blogging there for a bit, and writing in general. (Sorta scary for someone like me, that processes best through internal dialogue followed by written, scribbled words.)

But the hiatus makes me all the more grateful that one little prompt could draw so much out of me. Stuff I've been struggling with for months now, unable to articulate.

These thoughts may still be a mess of rawness, scattered thoughts, but I, for one, am glad to get them out of my head. Thanks for "listening."

11/07/2013

08/23/2013

A few weeks ago, before ­the big haircut, I had an amazingly
awkward encounter with a l­ocal pizza shop employee.

I don’t know exactly how old the kid was, only that he was
in (or possibly just out of) high school and despite my best attempts to
explain to him old I truly am, he just kept… well, not getting it.

I wasn’t gonna share the story online ‘cause I was scared no
one would believe me. But even though I am sometimes prone to exaggerate, the
details of this story are absolutely true. As the saying goes, you just can’t
make this kind of stuff up.

I’d like to dedicate this post my seventeen year old self
who NEVER got hit on, by pizza employees or otherwise.

­

At first I thought the guy was just very thorough, but bad,
at customer service. I had gotten there a few minutes before my pizzas were
ready, and took a seat in the corner of the tiny pick-up place.

And this kid – this Abercrombie shirt and
khaki shorts wearing, “After” image for an Apple Orthodontix commercial - started
bragging about how he was probably gonna join the Air Force. And how he’d just
gotten back from Hawaii. For the fifth time.

I kept looking for one of the other employees to come to the
front and rescue me or talk some sense into him. But no one came, and he just
kept talking, bragging about his awesome life, and also asking me increasingly
personal questions about mine.

He went from asking if I was in school (I’m wayyyy out of school I said) and where I
worked (an online college), and if they paid me for that work (Umm, yes) to…

“So, do you, like, live around here?”

“Yea, I said. We
get delivery a lot,” a point I had mentioned before. Surely this narrows the
radius plenty.

“So, do you, like, live with your parents?” he finally
asked.

“Nope.” I’m pretty sure I literally LOLed at this point. He
had moved from behind the counter, and was now standing suspiciously close to
the bench I was sitting on.

“I live with my husband,” I said, after regaining composure.
And I pointed to the ring that’d been on my left ring finger since I walked
into the store, and since I awkwardly accepted the handful of parmesan and
crushed red pepper packets he had handed me long before my pizzas were ready.

I kept looking around for someone to explain to me what the
heck was going on, or if I was in fact on candid camera. But nothing, except
awkward silence and one kinda crushed, mostly embarrassed looking 17(?) year
old.

Maybe it was the fact that my hair looked crimped from
sleeping in braids. Maybe it had to do with the glitter nail polish I was wearing.

But I swear to goodness I was sure the Mom shorts I was
wearing would offset all that. The last thing I thought, when running to pick
up pizzas was that the heir to a franchise fortuneanyone would consider me a viable option for an attempted senior-year
summer fling. Or a date to prom.

After showing the kid that someone had already put a ring on
it, he scurried off to the back pretty quick, either to restock some pasta
sauce or to call one of his friends to tell them the absurd story.

Soon after a nice woman – probably close to my age, who I’d
asked him if she was his mother – brought me my pizzas, and I headed home. To
my husband, you know, who lives nearby.

When I got there I told him about the strange encounter, and
that I was sorry for letting it go on as embarrassingly long as it did. But
Mikael and I both knew I was only partly serious.

Come on. When you’re pushing thirty, you take most any awkwardly
flirty attention – totally inappropriate – you get. At least long enough to
have a good, good chuckle on the car ride home.

I suppose the moral of the story, if there must be a moral,
is that married women should never, EVER, wear their hair crimped.

But also that maybe pizza employees should stick with
offering ridiculously small packets of dry cheese.

And husbands, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry to inform
you there is definitely a double standard when it comes to accepting
flirtations from teens. If a Sonic carhop tries to offer you more than
cheesticks politely, but quickly
decline. Trust me.

08/20/2013

But this year. This was the year. I put it on my bucket list and everything.

My brother did it. My friend’s husband did it.

There were no more excuses.

I started growing my hair out two years ago for our wedding.

I had chopped it off a few months before we got engaged, as a sign of independence and clamoring for control when so much of life seemed up in the air. (Have you been there?)

Then Mikael and I fell in love, and started planning our wedding in a tight three-month timeline. So I let it grow, and after the I do’s I let it keep growing.

And growing. And growing.

The goal was to donate it to Locks of Love. That was the plan, the whole intent behind all that growth.

But somewhere along the way I got a little more attached than I’d intended. (Note to Self: Do not puppysit. Or test drive sports cars. Much less… )

I got a few trims to keep my hair healthy-ish, but mostly I just let it be.

I have always dreamed of beautiful, wavy hair, but aside from the young years with ridiculous 80’s perms, mine has been stick straight.

And honestly, most days of the last two years my poor, forgotten hair found itself shoved in a bun. A sloppy, simple bun.

I didn’t blowdry or flat iron it most days.

And only curled it a few times.

Still, I liked my hair, more than I should have maybe. And I think it’s ‘cause it made me feel strangely safe.

Though I knew, realistically, a 29-year old woman can’t hide behind a curtain of bangs, I felt like I could. The option was there. And I liked that feeling.

Knowing I had a way to hide if I had a bad skin day, or a fat day, or a … (isn’t it amazing how many ways a woman can feel bad about herself?). No matter what happened to my weight, or my pores, I could still be the girl with the long pretty hair (nevermind that it was always in a ponytail).

There was the option of having really pretty, long locks. The ability to “copy” any celebrity look, or to attempt it at least. And I liked that.

Stupid as it sounds to admit aloud (or in print) I relied a lot on my hair to feel feminine, some days, many days, I saw it as my only potential at being pretty.

Still, after spending months of checking my mane’s progress with a ruler, and swearing to myself I’d chop it off when it got long enough, I discovered a week ago that I’d reached the requirement.

I couldn’t turn my back on children suffering severe medical treatments. Surely there’s no better motivation to do anything.

And so, I set aside my fears of looking like a boy without my hipster-ish bun. Or worse, a frazzled soccer mom if I got a bad haircut. And I asked my mother-in-law, a semi-retired hairdresser, to give me an angled bob.

I don’t think any woman wants to admit to herself, or others, just how deep her insecurities run. Or how superficial she really can be.

I’m sure there are women that don’t struggle with this by the way. I am just NOT one of them.

Nope. I’m the kind of girl that had to fight tears this weekend, as I listened to two years worth of growth being chopped off my head (wow, dramatic!). The kind that made awkward small talk to distract from the sound of scissors hacking away at the one thing I’d relied most on, for my confidence, weak as it was.

I admitted last week that I struggle with feeling good about myself because of the ways my looks differ from the girls in magazines. And because I don’t wear the same size pants as I did in high school.

I struggle to feel confident in myself, as I am. Just as I am, without “ifs” “ands” or wishing for a smaller “butt.”

And I struggle with accepting any progress towards being happier and healthier as something worth celebrating, when so often I feel drastic measures are the only ones worth taking.

Why lose five pounds healthfully when you could lose fifty by crash dieting? (Ever had those damaging kind of thoughts?)

I shared that because I think I’m not alone in those feelings. And because I think being honest about them is one of the first steps in getting past them.

I don’t want to make excuses for living an unhealthy lifestyle.

What I want is to give myself permission to work towards becoming my best self, not trying to warp myself into someone else.

I want to be happy in the skin I’m in, not wish it was Jennifer Aniston’s. Ya know?

But not wanting to face the insecurities Saturday I tried to convince myself it wasn’t that big of deal.

“It’s just a haircut,” I told myself, while brown locks fell to the floor.

“It’s just hair,” I said, when I looked at the braided ponytail (creepy, I know!) she’d set aside.

But trying to minimize my feelings hasn’t served me all that well in the past.

I might think something sounds silly or stupid, usually ‘cause I feel like no one will understand, but that doesn’t mean I am stupid for feeling that way.

It doesn’t mean it’s wrong to feel that way.

And that’s something I need to learn, accept. Which might explain why I’m here, writing a ridiculously long post about getting a haircut.

Knowing it’s just hair doesn’t mean I can’t also feel overwhelmed at what was/is a pretty drastic change (to my appearance at least).

Knowing that it will grow back doesn’t mean I can’t feel a little sad to let it go.

Knowing… and feeling… are not the same thing.

And I’m learning that’s not a bad thing.

I can feel the way I do, without letting my intellectual side bully me into believing I’m an idiot for getting emotional.

Just like I can be happy with a decision I’ve made, but a little sad too.

I can now report that a few days later I feel even better about my decision, and my new do.

It feels good to have a fresh start with my mane, and better to know that it's an outward sign of some inward progress.

Yes, sometimes growing up feels painfully slow, kinda like trying to grow out one's hair. But ultimately every little bit counts. That's something I'm reminded of as I play with my new pixie-like locks.

It's funny, really, how much a haircut I tried to minimize really has helped me feel happier and healthier overall.

Probably because bravery, in any shape or form, including a bob, is something worth celebrating.

*For those interested in donating hair, or helping financially, I've linked the above picture to the Locks of Love site. You'll find lots of ways to get involved, including how to nominate a kid in need, or to purchase a sweet teddy bear that benefits the cause.

And thanks to the many friends who inspired me to get involved with their own generous donations. I'm so glad y'all finally spurred me to take part in such a neat program.

*And last little plug, I would have never written this, much less "published" it if it weren't for a wonderful community of writers forming, who are encouraging women to embrace their own beauty and to love themselves.

Culture tells us to put a brave face on. To blend in with the crowd. To torture ourselves for perceived flaws. To paint over our insecurities.